


bingo! (or, five times betty and jughead banged somewhere they shouldn't)

by loveleee



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 5 Things, Canon Compliant, Exhibitionism, F/M, Light BDSM, Mild Kink, Smut, season 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-18 16:43:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20642384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveleee/pseuds/loveleee
Summary: Betty knows exactly whathewants to do. His fingers slip up underneath her pink sweater, tracing lightly over her ribcage, and it takes everything within her not to just collapse against his chest in a swoon.There’s just one problem.“Jug, we can’t,” she murmurs, fully aware that the way she’s leaning into him contradicts the hesitation in her words. “We’re in Veronica’sliving room.”(the title pretty much says it all.)





	1. The Pembrooke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sullypants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullypants/gifts).

“As wonderful as this has been, I think it’s time for Archie and I to retire for the evening.” Leaning across the coffee table, Veronica pours what little is left of the champagne into Betty’s glass with a wink. “Bonsoir, mes amis.”

“Really?” Sprawled out beside her on the sofa, Archie frowns. “It’s like, nine o’clock, Ronnie.”

Veronica smooths a hand over her boyfriend’s shoulder. “We have that thing tomorrow morning,” she says, voice as sweet as the colorful macarons she’d thrust in Betty’s face the moment she walked through the door. “Remember?”

Betty hides her smile behind a sip of her drink. After everything – the Red Circle, the Dark Circle, prison, G&G, a bear attack – it’s amazing that Archie can still be so _Archie _sometimes.

It’s amazing that _any _of them have made it to this point, minds and bodies more or less intact after what felt like a nonstop barrage of trauma for the last two years. That’s something she’s come to realize only recently, and only with the help of a therapist – a real one this time, with whom Betty has a standing appointment every Thursday afternoon.

“You mean school?” Jughead smirks, twirling his own empty glass between his long, slender fingers. Perched in his lap, Betty shifts a little so she can get a better view of his hands. She’s only slightly tipsy, but for some reason she can’t keep her eyes off of them.

(Maybe because it’s only been a week since he came back from the end of his summer program – a creative writing workshop at Stonewall Preparatory School that they both knew offered his best shot at securing a college scholarship – yet senior year begins for both of them tomorrow.

At different schools.

_Again._)

Veronica whispers something in Archie’s ear that makes his eyes light up. “Oh, yeah. That _thing_.” He hops to his feet. “G’night, guys!”

Betty drops her cheek to rest against Jughead’s beanie as their friends disappear down one of the penthouse suite’s many hallways. She hears a soft thud, followed by a girlish shriek; then, the sound of a door swinging shut.

Were Betty third-wheeling her best friends tonight, as she has for much of the summer, her eyes would probably be rolling all the way to the back of her head right now. But here with Jughead – sitting in his lap, his chest at her back, his hand warm and firm against her hip – she feels deeply and simply _content. _

It’s a rare feeling these days.

“So I guess that’s our cue to leave.” Jughead places his glass on the table, patting her thigh as he nudges her to stand. “Unless we want a repeat of Lodge Lodge.”

“We could hang out for a bit.” Betty finishes her champagne, coughing a little as the bubbles hit the back of her throat. “V won’t care. And your dad’s been so overbearing lately.”

Even though it’s true, Betty feels guilty for saying it out loud. All summer, FP had bent over backwards to ensure Betty felt at home in what used to be her _actual _home: giving her a set of keys, stocking the pantry with her favorite snacks, even rearranging the kitchen cupboards after she failed – over and over again – to remember where the plates were now kept.

She’s grateful, unable to imagine how she would have endured the last three months without FP’s (surprisingly) steady support, especially with Jughead spending his weeknights in the prep school dorms. But while FP had offered Betty a low-key, daily sort of stability, he now appeared to be trying to pack eighteen years of helicopter parenting into a single week with both Jughead and Jellybean at home.

His one leniency was allowing Betty and Jughead to share a bedroom…as long as the door stayed open at all times of day and night.

“That’s true.” Jughead takes the empty glass from her hand and places it on the table next to his own. He steps closer, their feet bumping together as his hands come to rest on her hips. “Betty Cooper. Do you want to be alone with me?”

She smiles, coy. “Maybe.”

“What do you want to do?”

Betty knows exactly what _he _wants to do. His fingers slip up underneath her pink sweater, tracing lightly over her ribcage, and it takes everything within her not to just collapse against his chest in a swoon. They’ve only been _truly _alone on three occasions since he came home – she’s been keeping count – and she’s aching to make up for more of the time they lost over the summer.

There’s just one problem.

“Jug, we can’t,” she murmurs, fully aware that the way she’s leaning into him contradicts the hesitation in her words. “We’re in Veronica’s _living room_.”

His lips brush her cheek, her jawline. “She has the biggest, comfiest couch of anyone we know.”

“We can’t get it dirty. It’s probably worth, like, ten thousand dollars.”

“So we’ll put down a blanket.”

“But our friends are here –”

Jughead pulls back slightly, quirking an eyebrow. “Betty. What do you think our friends are doing in Veronica’s bedroom right now?”

“Ugh.”

“Do you think they paused for even _one second _to have a conversation like this because _we _were here?”

It’s a solid point. “No.”

He lowers his voice, thumbs dipping below the waistband of her jeans to stroke her skin. “Then let me take your clothes off.”

“Fine,” she concedes, as they’d both known she would from the start. “But only some of them.” She lifts her arms as Jughead pulls her top off.

“Only _some _of them,” he echoes, tugging his own sweater over his head, letting his beanie drop to the floor. “Interesting.”

Betty rises up on her toes to kiss him, letting her fingers splay over his bare chest. She loves this, she thinks, as she presses her open palm to his skin: the small, persistent tug of possessiveness she feels when she sees him undressing. There’s a strange, primal part of her that longs to dig her nails in – to mark him, claim him, _mine_.

Before she can act on the urge, Jughead wraps his arm around her waist and half-carries, half-drags her over to the sofa. Betty falls back with a giggle, parting her legs to let him squeeze in between them, their chests pressing together as he bends down for another kiss.

Pulling back, he lets his fingers drift along the lacy edge of her bra. “This is pretty.”

“Thank you.” She arches her back, inviting him to touch her, but he doesn’t take the bait, just runs his fingertips featherlight along the seam.

“On or off?”

Betty bites her lip, pretending to think it over. “On.”

Jughead makes a noise of mild protest. He presses his nose to the dip between her breasts before looking up at her. “You sure?”

Her smile grows wider. She likes it when he teases her, but she likes it when _he’s _a little desperate even more. “Someone might walk in on us.”

“No they won’t.” He sucks a wet, sloppy kiss against the curve of her breast, but complies, his fingers redirecting to fumble with the button of her jeans. She wriggles as he tugs them down, bringing her underwear with them.

“The blanket,” she reminds him, and grabs the corner of the soft gray throw folded neatly over the back of the sofa. Together they unfold it and spread it out over the cushions; when they’re done she pushes him down by the shoulders, kicking her jeans all the way off of her feet so she can straddle him.

Jughead’s eyebrows lift in amusement. “I thought you wanted to stay covered up.” His own pants are shoved down only past his knees.

She sits upright, fingertips grazing his chest. “They can’t see my lower half from over there.” She tilts her head towards the hallway that leads to Veronica’s bedroom.

“They’re not here, they can’t see _any _half of you.” His laughter turns into a strangled groan as Betty takes him in her hand. She smiles, pumping him slowly, letting her thumb run over his tip.

“D’you have a condom?”

Jughead shakes his head, and Betty wrinkles her nose. Now that she has an implant, they’ve stopped using them _every _time. But they do make clean-up significantly easier. She wonders for a split second how much it costs to dry clean an enormous cashmere blanket, but then Jughead’s pulling aside the cup of her bra, and the wet heat of his mouth on her nipple drives all coherent thought out of her mind.

She goes with the moment, releasing a long, shuddering breath as she sinks down onto him. He grunts in surprise and digs his fingers into her hips, rocking her in time with his leisurely thrusts.

Running her hands through his soft, messy hair, Betty squeezes her eyes shut and begins to move a little faster. “Fuck, Juggie.” When she opens them again he’s looking past her shoulder, up at the ceiling, his gaze unfocused – what he always does when he’s trying to hold himself back. _Sometimes when I look at you_, he’d told her once, _it’s too much. _“This is _so _good.”

“Shh.” His eyes lock into hers as his fingers brush uselessly against her lips. He lets them drift down her neck, her collarbone, finally slipping inside her bra to palm at her breast. Betty whimpers.

“You’re not even trying to be quiet,” Jughead scoffs, tweaking her nipple as if to emphasize the point.

She yelps, biting back a grin. “You feel too good.”

Delight blooms across his face as it hits him. “You _want _to get caught.”

“I do not!”

It’s true, mostly. She doesn’t think she _actually _wants Veronica or Archie to stumble back into the living room, and find her riding her boyfriend on the couch.

But knowing that it _could _happen?

“If you want me to believe that,” he says, quickening his pace, “you might not want to shriek your answer next time.”

Her retort dies on her tongue as he shifts the angle of his hips, pushing in deeper, his sharp thrusts rolling through her whole body. It feels too good for words. He licks his thumb and presses it against her clit, rubbing the way he knows she likes it. Soon she’s cresting – head tipped back, mouth open, legs clenched, the pleasure coiled tight within her now spooling out through her trembling limbs.

He fucks her through it and then he comes, too, his grip on her hips almost painful as he holds her against him.

Betty collapses forward with a sigh. Jughead’s chin bumps against her shoulder, and he wraps his arms all the way around her middle, a full-body shiver running through him as he comes down from the orgasm.

“Did you like that?” he murmurs against her ear. “My little exhibitionist?”

She giggles. “Don’t call me that.”

He presses a kiss to her cheek and then loosens his embrace, one hand coming up to stroke her hair. Normally she would climb off of him now, find a tissue to hold between her legs; but she likes how it feels to keep him inside of her, as his hands trace unseen patterns across her skin.

“I feel like I still keep learning things about you,” he admits. “And I end up liking all of them.”

Feeling swirls through her chest, somehow tight and melting all at once. Betty props herself up on her elbows so she can see his face. “You do?”

She’s still learning things about herself, too – in her therapist’s office, in moments she shares with the Joneses, in dreams and in nightmares. She definitely doesn’t like _all _of them. Some of them terrify her. Should terrify him, too, if he has any sense.

_I’ve never had any_, she knows he would say, _when it comes to you._

Jughead’s eyes soften. “Betty. I _love_ you.”

“I love you, too,” she whispers.

(Because this, she knows, is a moment she wants wholly uninterrupted.)


	2. The Maple Club

“I kind of can’t believe this place is still open.” Betty skims her fingers along the ornate fleur-de-lis wallpaper as they drift down the last unexplored hallway of the Maple Club. “It’s been months since Penelope skipped town.”

“The Blossoms did always have a knack for business.” Jughead checks his phone, confirming his suspicions: they’ve been investigating the brothel for hints of Penelope Blossom’s whereabouts for nearly hour, with nothing to show for it.

Though neither of them were members – obviously – it had been shockingly easy to gain entry to the club. The madam who was running things had recognized the two of them from their days digging into G&G, and upon hearing their aim was to track down the brothel’s former proprietor, she’d waved them in without hesitation: “That wench owes me three grand.”

Jughead stops before a heavy, cherrywood door affixed with a bronze plate. The words _Sugar Shack _are engraved upon its face_._ “You want to do the honors?”

Betty knocks firmly on the door, _one, two, three. _They both make a silent count to ten, and then she turns the doorknob. It’s unlocked.

The Sugar Shack looks like every other room they’ve entered during their hunt for clues – with a big, four-poster bed situated beneath an elaborate crystal chandelier – but for one key difference: everything in it, from the curtains to the comforter to the rug, is black and pink.

In a weird way, Jughead realizes, it sort of reminds him of, well, Betty.

The thought leaves him paralyzed, standing by the door as she peeks in the drawers of both bedside tables before pulling open the massive wardrobe in the corner of the room. “Oh, wow.”

Her voice snaps him out of his momentary haze, and he joins her, eyes widening as he takes in the treasure trove of sex toys laid out before them. All of the rooms they’d searched before this had hewed to some sort of theme: the Tap room held an array of paddles, whips, and crops, while the Sap room featured at least eighteen varieties of scented wax and an unlimited supply of matches. (The Spile room had been occupied, for which Jughead was very, very thankful.)

The Sugar Shack contains all that and more: harnesses, ball-gags, handcuffs, chokers, a _lot _of rope. “This must be where they bring the big spenders. Or the ones with varied tastes, I guess.” Betty picks up a leather whip and eyes it thoughtfully.

Something about the sight of a whip in his girlfriend’s soft, small hands drives Jughead absolutely crazy. He crosses his arms over his chest, then puts his hands on his hips, suddenly feeling as though he might jump out of his own skin. “Yeah.” He’s at a loss for words, though his brain is running at a mile a minute. “Yeah, probably.”

Betty doesn’t seem to notice his reaction. She drops the whip with a sigh, and then crosses the room, flopping back onto the enormous, satin-sheeted bed. “There’s nothing here.”

Jughead swallows. “There’s…actually quite a lot of things here.”

“You know what I mean.” Betty sits up, legs dangling over the side of the bed. “Should we go? I’m not super hungry, but I could eat.”

In that moment, Jughead makes a decision.

He steps away from the wardrobe, over to the door, and locks it.

“Jug?” Betty sounds confused, but also – he thinks, he _hopes_ – curious.

“Or we could stay.” He takes one slow step towards her, then another. “Let’s stay.”

_This is why I love you_, he thinks, when Betty doesn’t laugh or wrinkle her nose, but simply looks at him in silent contemplation, and then nods her head once. “Okay.”

He takes her hand when she slips off of the bed, and they face the wardrobe again. He can tell that she’s nervous. It’s okay; he’s nervous too.

It’s not that this kind of sex – kinky, rough, whatever – is _entirely _foreign to them. Not conceptually, at least. Early on in their relationship, they’d discovered that Betty liked having her hair pulled, though entirely by accident: a chunk of it had caught on Jughead’s hemp bracelet when he ran his fingers through her ponytail while they made out, inspiring a moan he _still _thinks about sometimes when he’s alone and taking care of business in the shower.

They’ve tried blindfolding each other – Jughead enjoyed that more than Betty did – and pinning her wrists over her head has never failed to bring Betty right up to the edge of an orgasm, if not send her toppling over it.

Then there was the night at Lodge Lodge. Jughead had been surprised by how strongly he reacted to Betty’s promising threat of “punishment” – but the threat had never fully materialized, cast aside (along with her wig) by their mutually urgent need to fuck each other senseless on a big, fancy bed in a big, fancy house.

At the end of the day, the sex they _do _have feels so mind-blowingly good that it’s been easy for Jughead to ignore the tiny little seed of disappointment that Betty hadn’t gotten more aggressive with him that night in the cabin.

So it’s not like he’s unsatisfied, or bored. He’s just never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

That’s what this wardrobe overflowing with sex toys is: a big, boxy, wooden horse stuffed with gifts.

Betty reaches for the handcuffs first – not the pair sprouting tufts of magenta faux fur, but the other pair made of black leather. Her mouth curls up on one side as she dangles them over her finger. “You wanna lock me up, Jug?”

He takes the handcuffs carefully, weighing them in his hands; they feel a little more solid than he’d expected. “I was actually hoping for the other way around,” he admits, lifting his eyes to meet hers.

Her smile widens. “Oh.”

“That okay?” He rests his hand on her shoulder, brushing his thumb against her neck. “I mean, is all of this okay?”

“Yes. Unexpected, but very okay.” Betty lays her hand over his, twining their fingers together. “You trust me?”

“With my life.” It is a tad dramatic, he realizes, for what will probably amount to mild restraints and some light spanking. But if and when the occasion calls for it, Jughead likes to swing for the fences.

“Good.” Squeezing his hand, Betty turns back to the display. “Some of this seems maybe too intense for us? Unless you’ve been brushing up on shibari behind my back.”

“Shi…what?”

Betty grins, shaking her head. “Doesn’t matter. I want these.” She holds up what looks to be a metal chain with oversized tweezers on either end.

Jughead scratches at the back of his head, and wonders if perhaps he hasn’t given all of this quite enough thought. “Oh. Uh. Where do those go?” he asks, praying the answer isn’t what he fears it is.

She holds them up in front of her chest. “Nipple clamps.”

“_Oh_. Right.”

“For me,” Betty clarifies. “Unless you want to…?”

Jughead rubs a hand over his chest absent-mindedly. “No, I’m good.”

Betty shuts the wardrobe and tosses the clamps onto the bed before turning back to him. “We should pick a safe word. Something neither of us is going to say by accident.”

“Yeah, like…Princess Etheline?”

“Oh my god, Jug.” Betty swats at his arm, but he can tell she’s holding back a giggle. He feels giddy, like he’s teetering on the edge of something only half-known, and possibly amazing. “Don’t be mean. What about Sweetwater?”

“Great. Perfect.” He’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. “Betts, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“How do you know so much about this stuff?” He’s not concerned – just intrigued.

“I don’t know _that _much.” Betty takes the handcuffs from him and drops them on the bed beside the nipple clamps. “I just like to do research. You never know when you might find yourself in a sex dungeon with a willing participant and some time to kill.”

Sometimes all of the love that he feels for Betty wells up within him without warning, so full and so _real _that it feels as though his chest might split open to let it come bursting out. Now is one of those times. But he rides it out, lets it pass without crushing her against him in an embrace, because to do so would disturb the fragile, crackling energy beginning to spark in the air between them.

“You’re an enigma, Cooper,” he tells her instead, and the tiny smile she gives him in return says she knows exactly what he means.

Taking a deep breath, Betty takes two steps back from him – her signal, he assumes, that she’s ready to begin. He watches her, waiting, until she says, “Take off your clothes.”

Easy enough. Jughead unfastens his belt from its buckle, swaying his hips in exaggeration. “Do you want me to like, strip-tease, or –”

“I didn’t say you could talk to me,” she interrupts. “Just take off your clothes, Jughead.” Her tone isn’t kind, nor does it leave any room for argument. Jughead snaps his mouth shut, fighting back a smile, and removes the belt in silence.

By the time he’s fully undressed, he’s embarrassingly hard, which is doubly annoying because Betty hasn’t even let her hair down from its ponytail yet, let alone removed an article of clothing. She moves closer, so close that he can catch the sweet, slightly musky scent of her sweat mixed with her perfume. His fingers practically itch with the urge to touch her.

She looks him up and down, eyes lingering on his erection for just long enough to send a heated flush spreading along his chest and up his neck. He has the abrupt realization that even though she’s never done this before, Betty is _very _good at it.

“Get on the bed,” she instructs, quiet but firm, “and lay down.”

He does. Any remaining doubts about how absurd the satiny pink comforter looks melt away as he realizes how sensual it feels under his bare skin.

He lifts his arms over his head wordlessly when Betty crawls over him with the handcuffs, and she loops the chain around one of the bars of the headboard before snapping the cuffs around his wrists, careful not to close them too tightly. When she’s finished she sits back, straddling his thighs. For the first time since they started, she seems unsure of what to do next.

He _hopes _what she’ll do next is touch his dick – with her hands, her mouth, anything to relieve the aching pressure. He’s ready and willing to beg for it, but she still hasn’t given him the go ahead to speak.

Nonetheless, Jughead can’t stop the little groan that escapes him when she slips off of the bed altogether. Betty shoots him a look, but says nothing, and then strips all of her clothes off before climbing back onto the mattress.

She straddles him again, still not touching him where he wants – no, _needs_. Cupping both of her breasts in her hands, she bites her lower lip and regards him through her lashes. “Do you like this, Jug? You can speak. Yes or no only.”

His fingers flex, already eager to get out of the stupid handcuffs. He’s not sure whether ‘this’ means her tits, or the fact that she’s currently torturing him, but either way his answer is the same: “Yes.”

Her thumbs rub slowly over her nipples, and he watches, transfixed. “Do you want to touch me?”

“Yes.”

A smile flickers over her face, and she drops her gaze. “Are you hard for me?”

_Isn’t that obvious?_ he thinks; but of course that’s not the point of the question_. _

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

The way he twitches in response is probably answer enough, but he swallows and says, “_Yes._”

Betty nods, like she’ll take it into consideration, but still makes no move to touch him. Instead she leans back and retrieves the nipple clamps from where they lay by his feet.

Fiddling with a little screw on the side, she mutters something to herself that Jughead can’t make out. He lifts his head off the pillow. “What?”

“Hey.” She reaches forward and tweaks _his _nipple, hard enough that the shockwave it sends through him isn’t entirely pleasurable. He immediately hopes she’ll do it again.

_The human brain_, Jughead thinks, _is a twisted thing._

“Yes or no,” Betty reminds him. She turns her attention back to the clamps, fastening them to one rosy, pert nipple, then the other. When she drops the chain in the middle, her mouth opens in a little _o._ “Fuck.”

It must be heavier than it looks, he decides, like the handcuffs.

“_Fuck_,” she repeats, the stern façade slipping as she adjusts to the clamps. “I didn’t know it would feel like _that_.”

He wants her to tell him more about how it feels – to come closer, let him nuzzle her breasts with his lips and teeth and tongue – but he can’t even ask. His whole body practically throbs with desire. It’s so fucking frustrating.

He _loves _it.

Betty tugs on the chain experimentally, gasping at the sensation. He’d known her nipples were sensitive, but not _that _sensitive. One more new thing he’s learned about Betty Cooper today, to file away for the future.

Meeting his eyes, Betty slips her other hand between her legs. “What do you think?”

Jughead opens his mouth to reply – he wouldn’t mind being reprimanded again – but she’s too quick, fingers pressed against his lips before he can speak. “Rhetorical question, Jug.”

Her other hand is still moving between her thighs, but from this angle he can’t quite tell what she’s doing to herself. Betty moans softly, her fingers slipping off of his chin, curling against his throat, pressing flat against his breastbone. “What if I just made myself come like this? Would you like that?”

Lips pressed tight together, Jughead shakes his head. “No.”

“I think_ I’d _like that,” she teases. She watches him watching her as she moves her hand faster, rocking her hips gently in sync with the flex of her wrist. She leans forward, sliding her free hand up his chest to rest over his throat, her thumb at his pulse point.

“Tell me. Tell me what you want to do to me.”

_Finally. _“I want to fuck you, I want – want my cock deep inside you.” His hips buck up off the bed as he says it; he keeps his eyes glued on hers, desperate for any sign that she likes what he’s saying, any sign that he’s doing this right. He wants so, _so _badly to do this right. “I want you to fucking ride me.”

Without another word she rises up on her knees and then sinks down onto him fully, the tight, wet, velvety heat of her so overwhelming that he nearly loses it.

Jughead reaches for her, actually surprised when his wrists catch on the handcuffs – somehow he’d forgotten they were even there. “Fuck. _Yes_,” he grinds out, thrusting up into her as hard as he can without his arms for leverage.

“Oh my god.” Betty looks just as desperate as he feels, her eyes screwed shut and her mouth open in a silent cry as she rocks her hips along with him. Jughead is mesmerized by the sway of her breasts, the links of the metal chain between them clinking together as they move.

She opens her eyes and, following his gaze, leans forward so she’s tantalizingly close to his face. “Use your mouth,” she instructs.

It takes him a moment to understand. Jughead snaps his teeth around the chain, and watches as Betty’s eyes nearly roll into the back of her head.

Even though she’s still on top, still the only one with the use of her hands, he realizes that she’s ceded control. The thought sends another wild, hot rush of desire coursing through him. He jerks his head a little to the left, relishing the sound she makes, the sharp sting of her nails as she curls her fingers into his shoulder. He does the same on the other side and she pulls at his hair, whimpering.

“Fuck, that feels so good – I’m so close –” Chest heaving, she squeezes her thighs around him to slow the steady pace of his thrusts, and then drags herself up along his length to the very tip before sliding back down again to take him in fully. She does it over and over again, fucking herself on his cock at an agonizing pace, the slow, slow rise, then fall.

He's going to fucking die if she keeps doing that for much longer.

Jughead drops the chain from between his teeth, hands pressing uselessly into the mattress. “Please, _please_, Betts.” He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for, just – _something._

Betty slides one hand up his neck to frame his face and kisses him, a wet, open, filthy kiss that he wants to go on forever. “You wanna come?” she asks, breathless.

“Yes, fuck, yes –”

And then he does, his body seizing as he shudders up into her, spilling into her, and she’s shaking around him, face pressed into his neck, her high-pitched cry somewhere beneath the roaring in his ears.

Betty slumps forward onto his chest, one hand sliding up to tangle into his hair, the other curling loosely around his bicep. They lay together, catching their breath.

“That was so _fun_.”

Jughead laughs. “Come here. Kiss me.”

She props herself up on one elbow, leaning over him. He shifts beneath her, trying to get a better angle on her mouth, and as he does the chain still hanging between her breasts catches under him.

“_Ow._”

Betty removes the nipple clamps, and then frees Jughead from his handcuffs. He sits up against the pillows and rubs his wrists before grabbing her around the waist, pulling her back against him for a longer, deeper kiss, letting his hands roam over all of the skin he’d been forbidden to touch.

“You think it’s fun to torment me?” he murmurs.

“Mmhmm.” Betty smiles against his lips. “But I’m not opposed to taking turns.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now you know where I'm going with [the bingo card](https://66.media.tumblr.com/d2e44e100e76cd20119365571443d88f/dbb93559b870f278-45/s500x750/634cd060436af8ef8f5ce527409ab366e210fced.png)! :D
> 
> In all honesty, BDSM and dom/sub relationships are not something that interest me very much, and even though I agree there are little hints in the show that these two are into kink, I have a hard time buying into fics where they're really experienced at it. They're in high school; they haven't been sexually active for that long. But it felt like a missed opportunity to put them in this specific setting and not explore that a bit. So I wanted this to feel more like a first attempt at it, kind of dipping their toes into it, with all the awkwardness that entails.
> 
> On the eternal debate of "who's who": I think they'd both be into trying both roles! But I lean more towards dom!Betty because that girl has spent her entire life being battered about by the whims of other people (particularly her mother) and I think she would relish taking some control in this way. I also think Jughead is very responsive to the more forward parts of her personality and would just be so absolutely turned on by the thought of her bossing him around, lol. YMMV, but that's my take!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you to sullypants for this hilarious [bingo card of improbable sex locations in Riverdale](https://66.media.tumblr.com/380020921b4efe6cf150e14c051094a9/15e2b5a1504cd8d3-27/s500x750/ac3f80536a4201c5197b13934c088dbf533074d7.png).
> 
> Got an opinion on how I should fill out the bingo card? Let me know in the comments :D 
> 
> No opinion on how I should fill out the bingo card? Leave a comment anyway! I love them!!!
> 
> As for the remaining chapters - I'm undecided on if I want them to all take place in the same universe (which is basically canon for now), or just be random unconnected one-shots. Opinions on this are also welcome.
> 
> And as always, you are invited to come say hi on tumblr as well - I'm at imreallyloveleee. :)


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